


Patriot Games

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Angst, Drama, Episode Related, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:04:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was wondering.  What if when Jim jumped for Kincaid's helicoptor after the Seige, he missed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patriot Games

## Patriot Games

by Kitipurr

Jim, Blair, Simon, Carolyn, Kincaid, and all their assundry cohorts are owned by Petfly. I am owned by lots of cats.

Once again, no beta, no go, no $200.   
Lots of naughty words - I write for the mean streets, kids.   
Pairings are implied, not graphic, so you might call this Pre-Slash.   
Not to spoil any suspense, but the rape is threatened and attempted but not successful.   
AU for the different way the Seige ends.   
< > indicates thoughts.

Various references Switchman, LOTS to Seige up to the point where - well, you know.

* * *

**PATRIOT GAMES**

"Are you the mole that took out two of my men?" Blair tried not to flinch as Garrett Kincaid leaned into him. The terrorist's gun was inches from his face, and the tight grip on his jacket was not helping the waves of terror flooding him. "In this militia, that's a capital offense." 

<Oh shit, I'm gonna die...> "Hey man, you don't wanna do that, believe me. I'm worth more to you as a live hostage than a dead body!" <Oh, good one, Sandburg - except he's got a good two dozen hostages to spare here and you aren't even a cop!> Blair felt the sweat beading on his brown. <Think, Sandburg... think fast!>

"What makes you think that your sorry ass is worth anything to anybody?" Garrett spat, his eyes blazing. 

Blair's mind raced. <Why indeed? Perpetual student, researcher of the obscure, no truly close friends or family except the exceedingly absent mother...> "Banks sent me in." <Where the hell did THAT come from, Sandburg? ARE YOU NUTS?!>

"You're a cop?" Something crossed Kincaid's face, and Blair gulped silently - amusement? Amazement? Disbelief? Blair winced internally as he thought he saw... something else... 

<Oh god, this is SO not good...> "Yeah. Lieutenant Sandburg, Narcotics." He was glad the terrorist didn't catch the incredulous looks on the faces of some of the other hostages - people who knew damn well he was lying through his teeth. He prayed desperately that no one would rat him out... "I've been teamed with Ellison," he added hastily. 

"He's telling the truth, Kincaid!" Blair glanced gratefully at the large man on the floor - hadn't they said he was a captain? Blair made a mental note to thank the man for his support later... if they lived... 

Kincaid fired a shot just over the captain's head and screamed at the man, but was diverted from further action by one of his subordinates with a call on their satellite phone. Blair didn't understand the gist of the call, but the terrorist seemed awfully pleased when he turned back to his newest captive. The man grasped Blair's jacket and dragged him close until their noses were almost touching; Blair could smell the man's Old Spice and the Reuben sandwich he must have had earlier. 

"Looks like the execution's off," Kincaid growled at him, a smile curling his lips. Blair felt his heart skip as he recognized the lust in the cold grayish-green eyes. "I guess I could use a man like you." Blair swallowed hard, not wanting to think about what types of use the psychopath had in mind. The man leaned closer, and Blair felt his fear spike... 

And then he heard an explosion, and Kincaid was shoving him back on the desk as his attention was diverted. Blair listened to the radio conversation and felt hope - an intruder in the building was blowing things up? His mind thought of Jim Ellison's covert operations training and he crossed mental fingers, praying the intruder was his newfound Sentinel. If anyone had a chance to stop these lunatics, it would be an ex-Army Ranger with Superman senses. 

A few minutes past after Kincaid had dispatched a man to deal with the latest 'bogie' before Blair heard the terrorist taking a radio call that his chopper had landed. Kincaid recalled his troops to the Major Crimes squad room and gave a quick speech, touting their victory. Blair closed his eyes, trying to block out the man's voice as it grated on his already-frayed nerves. Unfortunately, it came rushing back in when he heard, "Mr. Natural here is coming with me." 

<Great! Good work, Blair old son! You haven't even filled out your credentials paperwork and you're being taken as escape insurance by a guy nutzo enough to stage a siege on the police precinct itself! Oh, this is a good day for you, Sandburg!>

He gulped as he heard Kincaid instruct two of his henchmen to dispense with the remaining hostages before making their own exit, and his eyes met those of the burly captain on the floor. He felt his stomach drop as he saw the realization of their fates; he owed his life to the big man, and the big man was going to die. Unfortunately, he knew that the captain's quick death might be far better than his own future. 

And then he was being dragged into the hallway by Kincaid, finding himself alone with the lunatic as they headed for the stairwell. "Why am I getting singled out?" he asked, desperate to stall. 

"Don't worry about it, Serpico. You're one of the lucky ones." 

"Funny, I don't feel that lucky," Blair muttered under his breath as a gun in his back forced his up the stairs. They reached the roof access, where Kincaid paused to push Blair hard against the door; the Patriot ground his hips into Blair's backside, pressing his face into the young man's cheek. 

"I guess we'll find out just how good a cop's ass can be, huh?" A hand rubbed harshly past Blair's thigh to open the roof door. Blair felt the blood drain from his face as the terrorist shoved his hostage out into the sunshine. 

"No, you don't understand!" he cried in panic. He heard Kincaid responding to him, but his fear kept him from really hearing the words. "I'm not really a cop! I was lying!" He felt his lungs clenching in the beginnings of an anxiety attack. "I'm an anthropologist! I was lying!" He was roughly shoved toward the waiting chopper, where a man in prison overalls hauled him inside. Kincaid scrambled inside and the hatch was slid closed. 

Lift off. Blair leaned back in his seat and tried to find his breath. 

* * *

"I'm upstairs!" Jim yelled and raced to the stairwell. Ever since he'd heard Kincaid dragging Sandburg off with him, he'd felt his heart in his throat. Simon's words were haunting him - 'Picked a hell of a day to get the guy his credentials.' 

<God, you have no idea, Simon. What was I thinking when I brought the kid into... what did he call it? My 'Dirty Harry' world? Hell, just earlier this week I was dragging him around after a mad bomber, nearly getting him blown up on a bus by a crazy woman out for revenge against ME, and now he's being kidnapped by one of America's Most Wanted!>

He reached the roof in time to see the helicopter lifting into the air. Reaching out with his hearing, he heard Blair make another impassioned plea and receive a backhand as a response. <God, he sounds so scared!> Jim raced unthinking toward the air-born chopper, focusing his aim on the yellow landing rung and leapt, fingers reaching out desperately... 

It was only when his knee crashed against the concrete of the building's roof that he realized he had missed. 

He had failed. Kincaid had gotten away. 

Sandburg was gone. 

* * *

"Jim? Jim!" A harsh shaking on his shoulder roused him. He was sprawled on the roof, clutching his bruised knee, with Simon and Carolyn crouched beside him. Carolyn put her hands on his face as she called his name, while Simon shook him to get his attention. The sound of the chopper was fading... 

"Jim? You with us?" Simon asked, his face clouded. Jim nodded despondently. 

"He got away, Simon," he said softly. "He took Sandburg with him, and he got away." 

"Damn... I'm sorry, Jim." Simon ran a hand across his face, knowing exactly what his friend was feeling. It was far too easy to imagine Daryl in the same predicament. "Look, Jim, we've got air support on the way. Maybe they can..." 

"You know Kincaid will never turn around," Jim said wearily. "He's got a civilian hostage as collateral. The air team will have to shoot him down, and Sandburg will die with them. And air won't shoot them down over the city, which means Kincaid will at least make it into the mountains before they will attempt a shot, and in the mountains Kincaid and his men can abandon the chopper before it crashes and escape on foot, practically untraceable. You think they'll keep the kid alive to take with them?" 

Simon met Jim's pleading eyes, wanting to provide reassurance but unable to speak. They both knew the odds of Kincaid keeping a random civilian alive as excess baggage once his got to the mountains was unlikely. Carolyn leaned her forehead against her ex-husband's as she helped him to sit up, offering silent comfort. The three shared a silent prayer against what was the most realistic outcome: that Blair Sandburg would be dead by the end of the day. 

* * *

Kincaid grinned as his chopper sped across the skyline. He leaned back in his seat and glanced at the radar scope - part of the special features Walters had insisted on installing for the mission. "Any sign of a counter air strike?" he yelled over the noise of the rotating blades. 

"Not yet, sir," Walters countered. "It'll take them at least fifteen minutes to mobilize air units. We land on the Gunther building in two." 

"Excellent." Kincaid leered at the curly-haired young man who sat trembling in the seat next to him. "Your fellow boys in blue will realize in another ten minutes or so that our little chopper ride was only a diversionary tactic. Unfortunately for you, by the time they figure it out, we'll be in a limousine belonging to the CEO of Emerson Electronics and headed for Montana." Blair kept his face even, trying desperately not to show his fear. He doubted he was fooling anyone, but at least he wanted to deprive Kincaid of the pleasure of seeing him panic outright. 

"You know, you could just... dump me off at the Gunther building," he replied, meeting Kincaid's eye. "By the time I get back to the precinct, you'll be long gone anyway, right?" <Except that he just told you where he's going and how he's getting there, you dumbass!>

"I have bigger plans for you, pretty boy," Kincaid smiled. He gestured to the two sprung convicts. "I'll bet Alton and Morrison here haven't seen anything as tasty as the likes of you in a while now. You see, they've both been in solitary lockdown in separate prisons since their trial started three months ago - seems the judge considered them a flight risk." The convicts both leered at the hostage. "All they've had for companionship is their own hands. I'll just bet they can think of a good use for you during that long car ride back to Camp Liberty." 

Blair's cheeks flushed under the predatory gazes of the two beefy jailbirds, and his stomach knotted. Kincaid leaned in to his ear and Blair felt hot breath on his neck. "And if there's anything left of you when they're done, there'll be a whole camp of my loyal followers waiting to take a turn with you once we get to Montana." 

Blair closed his eyes and shuddered. 

* * *

Jim barely noticed Carolyn's fussing over his cuts and bruises as he listened to Simon coordinating with the air patrol team. He stared intently, trying to focus his hearing on the voice coming through the cell phone; he almost missed Simon's expression as the Captain stared back. 

"Jim, I'm so sorry about this," he heard Carolyn saying. "You know we're going to do everything we can..." 

"I know," Jim said softly, not entirely listening. Carolyn put a soft hand to his cheek. 

"Jim..." He met her eyes, and she saw the haunted, desperate look she knew too well - he'd had that same look after the disappearance of Jack Pendergast... and the day she'd handed him their divorce papers. "Jim, you have to stay focused, okay? Either to save him, or to..." She hesitated to finish her sentence, but Jim's eyes finished it for her. 

"Avenge him." Carolyn's finger stroked his cheek lightly, and then Simon was joining them. 

"How're you doing, Jim?" he asked, voice clouded with concern. Jim shook his head, brushing off the question. 

"What do we have, Sir?" 

Simon exchanged a heavy look with Carolyn. "Jim, air support hasn't been able to track them. They're not showing up on the radar." 

"Simon, how is that possible?" Carolyn gasped. "They took off from here barely ten minutes ago!" 

"Could they be flying below radar?" Jim asked, his mind racing. Simon shook his head. 

"I can't see how," he sighed. "I think we have to take into account the likelihood that they've landed somewhere." 

"Great!" Jim fumed. "So they've landed on another building somewhere in the last ten minutes. They're either hold-up somewhere, or they're traveling by car already!" Simon's lips tightened as he raised his cell phone and began ordering a complete lockdown of a ten-mile radius. 

Jim climbed to his feet and strode to the roof's edge; Carolyn stayed with him, her hand clutched to his arm. She watched as Jim scanned the horizon, squinting in the direction that the yellow chopper had escaped. As Simon came up behind Jim, the captain's eyes met Carolyn's just as they both heard Jim muttering, "Damn it! Come on, Sandburg, how am I supposed to do this?" The man ran a hand over his eyes. 

"Do what, Jim?" Jim turned to Carolyn's question and saw Simon over her shoulder. 

"Jim, talk to us. What's going on with you?" Jim hesitated, meeting Simon's compassionate eyes. Simon hesitated only briefly before venturing forward. "Jim, you were awesome today. You were seeing things I couldn't see, hearing things I couldn't hear, smelling, feeling... and somehow, I'm thinking that Sandburg is connected to all this, isn't he? Come on, Jim, you can trust us." 

Jim sighed, and Carolyn instinctively wrapped an arm around her ex-husband. "You remember about a week ago when I told you I needed a leave of absence?" 

"Yeah, sure. I thought you saw a doctor and everything was good." 

"Well, I did see a doctor, only he couldn't find anything wrong. But his nurse apparently recognized my symptoms and contacted Blair." 

"I thought the kid was a grad student. Is Blair some kind of specialist?" Simon asked, frowning. 

"No, Sir... well, yes and no. He really is an anthropology student. See, he's been studying people like me." 

"People like you?" Carolyn parroted. Jim sighed again. 

"Caro... I'm what's apparently called a Sentinel... somebody who has naturally heightened senses - sight, touch, hearing... According to Sandburg, I'm some sort of... I think he called me a 'genetic throwback to pre-civilized man' or something like that. Anyway, he helped me use my senses on the Switchman case." 

"The perfume on the bird's nest?" Simon asked. 

"Yeah, except what I didn't tell you is that what Veronica Sarris wore wasn't just any perfume - she wore a special blend made from three different base oils. Sandburg dragged me to four different specialty fragrance stores before I caught the right combination." 

"Right combination?" Carolyn asked. "What do you mean by that?" 

"I mean, I think I smelled almost a thousand different base scents before identifying the three specific ones that, when combined, made up the perfume Veronica wore. Then we asked the retailer for a list of clients who requested specialty scents designed with those three oils." Jim glanced at the stunned look on his ex-wife's face, and the thoughtful look on his captain's. "I also used my sight to shoot a bullet straight down the barrel of her gun, and my hearing to..." 

"Locate my watch," Carolyn gasped, the revelation hitting her. "On the rear floor board of my car... we were at least fifty feet away!" Then her eyes narrowed slightly. "So that's how you could tell that the dinner I tried to pass off as home-cooked was take-out." Jim smiled wanly. 

"Sorry. I guess that was kind of tacky." 

"You what?" Simon asked, trying to catch up. "Wait, you did... how COULD you tell?" 

"I could taste the aluminum take-out tins. It was one of the first tests Sandburg gave me, to get me to understand a little bit what I was capable of. He made a batch of plain macaroni noodles and left them for a half-hour in several different storage containers. Then he had me taste the noodles to identify the storage containers they'd been in; plastic, glass, paper, tin, aluminum, ceramic - food picks up the flavor of the container, only not to a degree that a normal person would be able to notice." Jim shrugged, thinking about that first day... a 'test-drive', Blair had called it, a day of showing Jim what his senses were capable of: smelling roses in the commons, eves-dropping on co-eds having a conversation... 

"Tests?" Carolyn was asking, still trying to wrap her brain around this. 

"Blair's helping me get a handle on this whole thing. I've been having sensory spikes..." 

"Like you had at La Paglia," she nodded, remembering their dinner when she'd thought Jim was choking. 

"Right. Sometimes my senses go haywire for some reason. Sandburg's been helping me try to figure this all out." 

"So, can you use these senses to find the chopper?" Simon watched closely as Jim's eyes widened in surprise, and the taller man shrugged. "Look, Jim, I'm not going to say I completely understand this whole thing - or that I want to, for that matter - and when this whole mess with Kincaid is over we're going to sit down and walk through this whole thing from the beginning. But right now, I'm asking if there's any way you can use these... these superpowers of yours to find that damn chopper!" 

"I don't know, Simon!" Jim cried with exasperation. "I've been TRYING! It's just that..." The detective stopped short, and Simon studied Jim's pale blue eyes. 

"What is it, Jim?" Carolyn asked, absently rubbing his arm. 

"There's... there's this problem when I focus." Jim slouched, his entire being radiating defeat. "Blair calls it the 'zone-out factor.' If I focus too much on one particular sense, I... I sort of black out, but not exactly. It's hard to describe. But when it happens, it's like... well, it's sort of like a mini-coma." 

"Jim!" Simon gasped, his tone accusing, but Jim waved him off. 

"Sir, Sandburg says it's completely controllable." 

"Then why is this 'zone-out factor' a problem?" Carolyn asked. 

"Because right now, only Sandburg knows how to bring me out of one!" Jim growled, pulling from Carolyn's touch to walk away slightly. Simon exchanged a look with the forensics lieutenant and with a small duck of his head gestured her forward: a woman's touch was called for. 

"Jim, we want to help here. Nobody's judging. Maybe if you tell us what happened and what he did, Simon and I can help you with this." 

"Carolyn, I've zoned on Sandburg exactly twice. The first day I met him at his office, and yesterday during a scenting test." 

"And what did he do to bring you out of it?" 

"Well... uh... yesterday he pinched me. He said he was distracting me to use touch - forcing me to use a different sense than the one I zoned on. I was doing a smelling test." 

"What about the first time, at his office?" Simon asked. Jim grinned sheepishly. 

"He... uh, he threw me under a truck." He saw two pairs of eyes widen, and he chuckled. "I zoned on sight - a red Frisbee, of all things - and came to a dead stop in the middle of oncoming traffic. Lucky for me, Sandburg was following me - god knows why, after I'd just manhandled him, called him all sorts of names, and stormed out. Anyway, he saw me freeze up and tackled me to the ground. Garbage truck ran right over us. Kid saved my life." Carolyn smiled warmly and Simon nodded. 

"Then damn it, we're going to save his if we can. Jim, I want you and Carolyn to come up with ways to find that chopper. I'm gonna go hitch us a ride." 

* * *

"God damn it, you little runt!" Kincaid swore as he shoved Blair into the corner. "Can't you move any faster?" 

"You've the one who tossed me down a flight of stairs and sprained my fucking ankle!" Blair shot back. "Of course, maybe I could have stopped myself from falling, but Oh, Look! My hands are duct-taped together!" He made no attempt to move at the terrorist glowered down at him. <You seriously do have a death wish, don't you, buddy-boy? Of course, death would be preferable to their currently plans for you...> He was uneasily pleased when Kincaid grinned wickedly. 

"You got balls, kid. I like that." He turned to the pilot, who was anxiously working on the fire door blocking their path. "How long is this going to take, Walters?" 

"I'm not sure, Commander. When we scouted this building, this door wasn't locked as part of regular security. Three weeks in a row, this door wasn't locked." The pilot growled as he continued to work at the lock. "For some reason, this week some asshole discovered that it SHOULD be locked." 

"So, why didn't we plan for the POSSIBILITY that it MIGHT be locked, even thought we expected it wouldn't be?" Kincaid asked mildly, but the sense of menace in his tone was obvious. Walters blanched and gritted his teeth. 

"It was an oversight, Sir," he replied under his breath. Kincaid glanced at his watch, and Walters grimaced, knowing his very life hung on how quickly he got the door open. It was obvious his experience was limited, however, and that gave Blair an idea. 

"You know," he began tentatively, feeling the butterflies in his stomach start a rumba when the leader's eyes swept back to him. "You know, I could probably get that door open for you faster." He glanced up nervously. "I used to be a wiz at lock-picking when I was a kid." He met Kincaid's questionable gaze and shrugged. "Disreputable youth." 

"So work on the door, then," the Patriot ordered. Blair cocked an eyebrow and pointedly raised his hampered wrists. There was a long moment of consideration, and then Kincaid nodded to Walters to remove the tape. Fifteen minutes and several chunks of arm hair later, Blair took the pocketknife from the pilot and began his attentions on the door. 

* * *

"What about sound?" Carolyn said thoughtfully. 

"I doubt I could pick up the noise of one chopper over the noise of another, and that's assuming their chopper's still running." Jim looked dejected. "I'm new at this, remember." 

"Good point. About the noise, not about being new, though I suppose... well, anyway. What about smell? Follow the exhaust trail?" 

"Just hang my head out the window like a dog? I'm not a fucking bloodhound," Jim snarled, and his ex-wife held up her hands in surrender, recognizing only too well when the man's patience was wearing thin. "Besides, it's windy enough that I doubt there's a coherent trail left." Carolyn nodded, trying not to further antagonize the already-nervous Sentinel. 

"Okay, you're right. Let's assume for logic's sake that taste and touch are pointless." Jim gave her a patronized look which she ignored. "That leaves sight. If we get up high enough, do you think you could spot it? I mean, it's a bright yellow bird, it should stand out on the roof tops, right?" 

Jim nodded numbly. "I guess, maybe... I don't know..." 

"Jim, you can try. I know it's probably scary since the last time you zoned on sight you ended up kissing the pavement under a truck, but Simon and I will be there. You said Sandburg's been helping you - have you done any tests on the extent of your sight range?" Jim smiled as the scientist in his ex came to the foreground - god help him if she and Sandburg got together... The thought sent his spirits into a dive again. 

"It's only been a couple of days. I mean, the first day was just some basic 'proving it to me' stuff, nothing really out there. And then I spent most of the day after we arrested Sarris doing paperwork on the case. The next day I had a couple of doctor appointments - some follow-ups from my original visits; I figured, you know... just in case the kid was off his rocker, you know? And then you and I had dinner that night, and the next day I was kinda busy..." 

"So what you're saying is, you've been ducking him." 

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, at first, you know? I'm still really uncomfortable with this whole thing. I finally caved in yesterday and we spent about five hours at the loft running tests." 

"So sight distance wasn't on the agenda." 

"No. We did light and dark..." 

"How did that go?" Carolyn asked gently, hoping to boost Jim's confidence. 

"I believe he said something about cats being jealous," he chuckled softly. Then suddenly he raised his head. "Chopper's coming." Carolyn looked up and listened... waited... and then in the distance she heard it as Simon appeared at the roof top doorway. 

"Our chopper's on the way, kids. I hope you have a plan." Jim glanced at Carolyn and she smiled encouragingly. 

"You can do this, Jimmy." 

* * *

Blair dragged out his lock-picking as long as he felt safe, making sure to be blatant about rubbing the circulation back into his hands and flexing his fingers to restore mobility. With every second he managed to successfully delay, he imagined Jim Ellison getting closer to storming in to save the day: even pictured him on a white horse in full battle armor at one point. 

<God, Ellison, I could really use your help about now, man. I'm doing everything I can think of to save my sorry ass, but I'm pretty much out of ideas here.>

To control his terror, he tried to let his mind envision happy thoughts - a summer day at the beach or park with a nice breeze blowing through his hair... a romantic candlelight dinner at The Seaboard, working on a nice two-pound lobster stuffed with crabmeat and an excellant Bordeaux - maybe a Chateau Yquem white... ...a surprise visit from his wayward mother, baring gifts of a new incense to try and a homemade tongue steak with grilled onions... maybe her hand-made cherry cobbler... 

...seeing Jim again, maybe talking him into doing some more touch tests - hell, the guy may have shown no interest in dating him, but it couldn't hurt anything to trick him into touching, right?... 

Blair smiled at the last thought. Last night had seen Jim Ellison naked except for a pair of boxers as Blair had touched his extra-sensitive skin with various objects - touched him all over, Blair smiled slightly at the thought. A feather on the back, an ice cube on the neck, a brush of tissue across the knee, a Q-tip dragged over his instep. Jim had probably known the tests were a little suggestive, but they had proven the point nonetheless - it wasn't only his fingers that could be used to focus touch. Blair had hoped to extend those tests further in time... of course, he had to survive this damn day to do it. 

Finally, when he picked up on Kincaid's increasing agitation, he called upon his skills won during his thirteenth summer - spent with Naomi's New Yorker boyfriend Ernie in Santa Fe - and within thirty seconds had popped the lock. 

"About damn time," Kincaid growled, but Blair could tell the man was leased. "Okay, Alton, help our guest up and let's get moving. We're behind schedule, gentlemen, and that is NEVER good." Blair tried not to shudder as the convict hoisted him up and hauled him along the corridor after the leader of the Sunrise Patriots. 

* * *

Ellison leaned into the cool glass on the helicopter's side window, gazing intently at the buildings below. He vaguely felt Carolyn squeezing his knee gently in her attempt to keep his sense of touch stimulated. He could only hope it would work; if Sandburg was still alive with any hope at all of rescue, everything depended on it. 

Simon had the pilot take them to an extreme height and Jim altered between holding up his binoculars and not; Simon used them on his side to project the appropriate appearance to their pilot, but Jim knew using them would limit the range of space he could view at any one time. 

He tried to allow his entire frame of view - peripheral and all - to seek out anything bright yellow that was large enough to be a helicopter. He was amazed that he could hear the ticking of Carolyn's watch in the background, under the noise of the chopper blades, but felt it appropriate that his hearing would tune in to something which reminded him of how little time they had... how little time Sandburg had... 

The back of his brain had been swirling since the moment earlier that day when he'd realized the anthropologist was trapped in the building under siege. He knew he'd been dodging Blair for days, but it wasn't fear of his senses that had been his motivation. It had been something else entirely. He hadn't even realized what until last night and those damn scent tests. 

* * *

"Okay, Jim. I want to you find a scent in this room and hone in on it. Block out everything else, just focus on that one smell. Got it?" 

"Yeah, Chief." 

"Okay, describe it to me in detail. What is it?" 

"Spicy... like ginger and honey... I think there's... it's like a hint of cloves and sage." 

"Huh... okay, go deeper. Try to imprint the scent. Really get to know it. Got it? Okay, now find what it is you're smelling. Tally ho, Rutherford!" 

"Very funny, what are you, Emily Bronson?" 

"I prefer Charlotte Bronson, myself." 

"God knows you aren't Charles Bronson..." 

"Have you found it?" 

"I'm trying, Sandburg. Give me a minute here... Geez, find the scent, he says... Wait a minute... what the hell?" 

"What?" 

"Damn it, it's YOU, Sandburg!!!" 

"Me? I smell like ginger and honey and... cloves... oh, uh, well..." 

"What? Come on, Darwin, give." 

"Well, my shampoo... that's the ginger and honey... and cloves, that's my deodorant." 

"Cloves in your deodorant? Do I even WANT to ask?" 

"Hey, I believe in all natural, man, and cloves happen to have an intense power to absorb the body's natural odors." 

"I may never cook again, thanks. And the sage?" 

"I was burning sage in my office earlier today." 

"Uh huh. So, explain this to me, Darwin. Out of all the things in here to smell - food on the stove, fresh flowers I bought earlier, my plants, the furniture... why am I zeroing in on YOU?" 

"Well, I have a couple of theories... mainly, probably because I'm new. I mean, sure, the flowers and food aren't exactly out every day, but they are smells that you're very used to. You've been smelling food and flowers for years, man. But me? I'm a whole new creature in your territory, you know?" 

"That's a complete understatement, Chief." 

"Okay, well, let's continue this, okay? You're focused on my smell, all the little things making it up. Now, let's try something. Close your eyes... come on, Ellison, work with me here. Good. Okay, give me a couple of seconds. Just focus on my smell..." 

"What the hell! Blair, are you okay?" 

"Yeah... oh, wow, you could tell?" 

"What did you do? All of a sudden, the smell changed..." 

"Like how?" 

"It suddenly got... I don't know, like... it got sour, or something. What did you do? What happened? Hey, are you okay?" 

"Yeah... oh, wow, that's amazing. I made myself thing about something that gets me upset. You could smell my mood change, man! That is so amazing!!!" 

"Fine, whatever. Blair... what were you thinking about?" 

"Oh... hey, don't worry about it. It's just somebody... I... look don't..." 

"Chief, Blair, talk to me here. If we're gonna work together, I need to know you feel you can trust me, that you can talk to me about stuff, okay? I can't promise I'm going to be very good at doing the same, but I'm gonna try, okay? You're the one who made that deal, remember?" 

"Yeah, Jim. Hey, it's okay." 

"Wait... wait a minute... I smelled you like this before, didn't I? Earlier today, only I didn't know what I was smelling at the time. When we passed that big jerk, the football player..." 

"Foster McCourdy. Yeah, I guess you did. Wow, you remembered that, huh?" 

"Don't try to sidetrack me, Blair. The jerk upset you. I remember he... Blair, I remember how he looked at you. What happened with him? What did he do?" 

"Look, it's no big deal, okay?" 

"Sandburg..." 

"Okay, look. I told you I was bi, remember? Well, Foster and a couple of his jock buddies found out and they weren't exactly open-minded. They... they got a little..." 

"Did they hurt you?" 

"No, man. Didn't lay a hand on me." 

"But they threatened to, didn't they?" 

"..." 

"Chief..." 

"They just made some rather creative suggestions for guys who don't actually know how to tie their shoes. They 'suggested' that if they don't pass my class this semester that they're going to... well, something to the effect of trying to put the square pegs in the round holes, you know?" 

"Son of a..." 

"Jim, it's okay, I've dealt with their kind before." 

"You're not going to let them slide, are you?" 

"Not a chance! Aside from the fact that I'm a solid believer that every student has to earn their grade, I'd have to flunk them based on attendance alone. If I even tried to give them a D the records office would know something was fishy, seeing how the University requires a student to attend a minimum of seventy percent of their classes in order to earn a passing grade. And Foster's crew has already missed a good thirty-five percent. And attendance is recorded with the records office on a weekly basis." 

"So how to you plan to deal with their kind this time?" 

"I'll just make myself seriously scarce for a few days after grades are posted. They'll be suspended by the end of finals week based on their grade averages, they'll pack up and go home and that will be that." 

"You're filing a complaint with the Dean's office first thing tomorrow, Chief." 

"I'm going to the precinct with you first thing tomorrow, Jim." 

"Okay, after that. You get your credentials, and then we're going to the U and you're putting this on record. And after grades come out, I'm sticking to you like glue until I'm sure that dickwad and his pals are packed and gone. You'll camp out here if you have to. Or I'll camp out on your sofa. Whatever." 

"Yes, Mom. Can we get back to the tests now?" 

"We never left, we just took a slight detour. So... was that what you were thinking about, just now, to make you upset?" 

"No... actually, I was thinking... oh, never mind." 

"Chief?" 

"Boy, you're like a pit bull with a rawhide chew, aren't you? Look, I was... I was thinking about how you remind me a little of the last guy I seriously dated, okay? He kind of looked like you, had the whole military buff stud thing going..." 

"Military buff stud? I'm a stud?" 

"Oh, get over yourself, Ellison. Yeah, you're a stud, you're totally hot, I'd hit the sheets with you in a second, and I've been lusting after you since minute one, even if I'm lusting on a one-way street. Have we stroked your ego enough yet?" 

"Uh..." 

"Oh, shit, Jim, I'm sorry. I... damn, I didn't mean to..." 

"It's okay, Blair. I mean, we swapped those little notes to make sure we understood each other, right? You know I've been with guys before... you caught me off guard there, is all. It's just been... hell, over seven years... probably more like ten..." 

"I don't ever want to make you uncomfortable, okay? You have to tell me if I do. I know I tend to just lay it all out there. No skeletons in my closet, man, they're all in the front window, you know?" 

"Sandburg, you don't even have a closet. I've seen your office, remember? I can just imagine your apartment. So tell me about this guy I remind you of, and why thinking about him gets you upset." 

"Emerich Sodeski. I know, his name just asks to be made fun of. Everybody called him Tackle or Tack." 

"Let me guess, he played football, right? 

"No, left. Kidding. Yeah, Left Tackle, score one for the detective. Anyway, he was three years older than me at Rainier; a sophomore when I was a freshman. I tutored him in a variety of different classes, and he in turn took me under his wing socially. I started at Rainier at sixteen, so I wasn't exactly popular, you know? I mean, who wants to hang with a kid at least two years younger? But E was cool about it. Plus, he was on the football team so he was part of THE 'in' crowd, you know? Major points for me, hanging with one of the coolest people." 

"He dated you while you were underage?" 

"No, no, even cooler. He was just friends with me until I was old enough to date him, but he made sure I knew he was waiting for me. And when I did turn eighteen he was very open with his friends about being my guy. He made me feel really special, and wasn't afraid to let everyone know it. He made a big difference in my life - not just helping me make friends, but helping me feel comfortable about being who I am. I mean, I was raised to be a free, open-minded thinker and all, but that doesn't mean I always had a lot of self-esteem, you know? Let's face it, I WAS a total dork." 

"Hard to picture you a total dork, Chief." 

"Yeah, well, Calista Regert confirmed that title, remember?" 

"Calista?" 

"The TA I had you eves-drop on, remember? The blonde you told me said I was a dork." 

"Oh... right... uh... So, Tackle... what happened to him?" 

"He... well, he graduated in five years - he probably could have gone pro ball, but he didn't want to, he always said that football was a way to get a decent college degree." 

"Very cool." 

"Yeah. He started grad school at Rainier - business finance. He wanted to be an accountant. I always thought that was a scream - a football player who wanted to be an accountant. Talk about ironies. And then..." 

"What? Hey, you okay?" 

"Yeah... sorry... he... Sorry, it's just so stupid, you know? He was working nights one semester as a janitor for one of the student housing apartment complexes... the Hayes Manors. One night there was a boiler explosion... the whole place went up in flames..." 

"Oh, Chief..." 

"He saved the lives of at least fifteen other kids before... He..." 

"Hey... come here... god, I'm sorry, Blair... It must really suck that I remind you of him, huh?" 

"No, actually that's part of the cool part. You're both really good guys, you know? I mean, you save lives too. Sure, he didn't do it every day, but it was in him, it was part of him to save people from being hurt... I see that part of him in you every day. It's just... I really miss him still, you know? It's been years, but..." 

"He meant a lot to you, and you loved him. I know how that goes. It's been ten years since my first army commander died on a night mission, but I still get upset thinking about him sometimes. He meant a lot to me, and hell, he wasn't even my lover, you know?" 

"God, I'm sorry... you must be really impressed with me now, huh? Bawling like a baby the first night we get together to work on... god, I'm sorry..." 

"No harm, no foul, kiddo. I'm glad you could tell me about him. I hope I don't disappoint you. I'm warning you, more than one person in my life has accused me of being a royal asshole. I hate to say it, but you'll probably find yourself counting the differences between me and Tack really fast." 

"Maybe. But differences are a good thing. I mean, sure, I loved E, but he's gone and you're here and you're a whole new person to get to know, with a specialness all your own. I'm really looking forward to getting to know Jim Ellison. I've already seen there's a lot more to you than the asshole part. And hell, I've been called worse a few times myself - and not just by students or ex-girlfriends. Everybody has they're bad side. 

"Look Jim, I'm not looking to find a replacement for E. It would be... it'd be dishonorable to his memory. E was E, and you are you. I like you for everything I've seen so far - including the neanderthal who slammed me against my office wall. The fact that you remind me of him a little... that's just a fluffy bunny bonus, you know?" 

"A 'fluffy bunny bonus'... is that actually a phrase, Sandburg?" 

"It is in my world, Jimbo." 

"Don't call me Jimbo." 

"Fine. So now that I've snotted all over your shirt, can we get back to testing here? So when I got upset you said I smelled sour..." 

* * *

Jim stared down at the rooftops, the memories playing at the back of his consciousness. It had felt so good to hold Blair last night; to stroke his soft curls and comfort him, to get lost in his wacky ramblings and the changes in his scent... it had been Blair's scent that he zoned on. The changes - sour when upset, spicy and musky when happy and focused on the testing, slightly intensified when Blair had gotten excited by something... and the subtle shift when he remembered feeling loved. 

That particular odor had been the one that drove Jim over. He'd gotten Blair to describe his late lover, to remember Tackle in detail, and the scent had spiked with an almost cinnamon-y quality... and Jim had just gone under, like drowning in gentle waves, not even trying to swim to the surface. 

When Blair had finally brought him out of it, he had been slapped full on with the realization of what he'd been running from in the days after meeting Blair Sandburg. He'd been able to ignore it during the craziness of the Switchman case, but once that was done and it was time to face the facts, he'd bailed... He was attracted to one hippy punk professor. 

Oh, sure, he'd always been up front about being bisexual, and hadn't even blinked when he'd added it to the 'things Blair Sandburg should know about Jim Ellison' list. Even Carolyn had know about it during their marriage - hell, he'd broken up with a guy to go out with her, and his 'rebound' relationship after their divorce had been Antony Dumarci from Homicide for crying out loud. 

When he'd told Blair it had been a long time, he hadn't meant being attracted to a guy or dating one... just... the all-the-way thing. Well, in this day-and-age, it certainly wasn't as safe to do one-nighters as it had been back in his wild and crazy youth. Even his female dating had dropped to mostly just dinners and movies and a goodnight peck on the cheek. 

Not that he didn't do one-nighters with the occasional girl - yeah, yeah, no safer there than a guy, both were a roll of the health dice without protection, and even with it you were playing for percentages. So, okay, his reasons for not doing the nasty with a guys were dumb if he considered he did it with a girl at least once a year... 

So what was it about Blair Sandburg that had his pulse doing the cha-cha whenever they touched? 

"Jim, you still with us?" Carolyn was pinching his thigh hard... had he zoned? No, just lost in thoughts he couldn't afford to get lost in right now. 

"Yeah," he replied, and realized that even lost in thought he'd still been doing his visual sweeps. "Nothing." He pulled his headset mike closer to his mouth. "Donovan, can we go a little to the east?" 

"Yeah, sure," the pilot responded, setting his course. 

"You got something, Jim?" Simon asked. 

"Just thinking... They took off to the northwest toward the mountains, but they probably were expecting us to get air support up within fifteen-to-twenty minutes tops, and there really aren't any decent buildings to land on that direction in that time frame. But to the east a little..." 

"The Big Business District," Simon nodded. "About thirty-five buildings of fifty stories or more, many with private helipads." 

"And private garage access," Carolyn added. 

"I'll bet they plan to trade to a car stolen from one of the corporations, thinking the cops aren't going to be looking for them making their getaway in a car with a company logo." 

"Good thinking, Jim," Simon smiled. As the chopper proceeded to the Cascade financial district, Simon radioed the ground units to show particular interest in any corporate-related vehicles. Jim bit down on his lip as he made note of the dwindling daylight. They had to find the chopper SOON. 

* * *

Blair couldn't help but laugh inwardly as plot kink number - how many was it? - was thrown into Kincaid's plan. First the covert assault on the precinct, not to mention Blair's taking out two of his men, then the door being locked, and they'd had to override a security system they hadn't counted on. It was one Alton knew how to get around, but it had added more time onto their delays. 

Now they were at the private executive elevator - the only way to get to the waiting limousine, Kincaid was bellowing - and they'd discovered the power to the building had been cut. Blair had almost laughed aloud when they'd found the memo taped to the main elevator bank stating that the building would be rotating outages on elevators to help save money and energy. 

"Damn it, Walters!" Kincaid growled, slamming his fist against the elevator door. "Do you have a plan to resolve this little error?" Walters was cringing against the wall, while Alton and Morrison were grinning rather ferally, moving forward to get a better view. Blair simply prayed that the terrorist would not decide to take his frustrations out on the one completely expendable member of their quintet. 

"We could take the stairs," Walters suggested gamely. Kincaid's eyes flared. 

"The STAIRS, Walters, are fifty-seven flights just to ground level, and another five to the private parking garage, and we will have to pop the security locks at three different levels." The terrorist leader raised his gun and pointed it at the pilot's head. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just eliminate you right now, you moron." 

"'Cause I'm the only one here who knows how to fly a chopper if we need to stage a strategic retreat, Sir," the pilot said coolly, his tone even despite the sweat glistening in his eyebrows. Kincaid held the man in an icy stare for a minute, then started pacing. 

"Well, we got Mr. Natural here to pick the locks if we start hiking the stairs, but that's a lot of added time," he muttered to himself. "Maybe we should just hold-up here until the turn the power on Monday morning..." 

"Two days here, plus three nights?" Morrison shook his head. "God knows the cops would never expect it, and they'll turn on the elevator power probably early, like around four or five, right?" 

"Hey, as long as we can find some food and drink, I'm game," Alton nodded, turning his leer toward the anthropologist. "We got some entertainment here to keep us busy..." Blair blanched as other pairs of eyes fell on him, each with a different predatory smile. 

"These big executives probably have their own damn kitchen on the floor, we should be able to put together a decent meal or two," Kincaid nodded in agreement. "Alright boys, let's find ourselves a comfy place to settle in. I'll radio the camp and let them know our change of plans." 

Blair was unceremoniously pushed toward the nearest office, stumbling on his injured ankle as Alton shoved him inside. As the Sunrise Patriots entered and began exploring their temporary quarters, Blair's mind was racing. He crawled over to the desk and pulled himself up to sit in the chair behind it. Alton was rummaging through the office's dorm-size refrigerator, pulling out beverages and fruit, while Morrison had opened a closet and was yanking out extra clothes the executive kept there, checking against himself for size. Walters had continued down the hallway in search of the expected pantry, and Kincaid was busying himself on the satellite phone. 

Blair glanced around the desk, trying to think. A letter opener would provide a decent enough weapon, except for the fact that his captors had guns, and he still had his Swiss Army knife in his back pocket anyway. The phone was a tantalizing few inches away, but there was no way Kincaid wouldn't see him try to make a phone call, and the odds of him being left alone for even a minute... 

His eyes latched hungrily on a flash of orange poking out from a slightly opened desk drawer; being careful not to make enough movement to be noticed, he pulled the drawer open slightly and saw the bottle of pills, so carelessly tossed in the drawer with the cover only partially on, allowing the pills to spill out slightly. Blair slowly reached a finger in to move the bottle so he could read the label, praying it wasn't something for allergies or acne. 

<Come on, baby, lucky sevens, give me a bigwig who can't handle his stress level... BIG MONEY!>

His brain did a Snoopy-dance when he saw the word 'Valium' stamped so nicely on the pharmacy instructions. He glanced quickly around, checking that all attention was still diverted from him, and snagged a quick handful of pills before silently sliding the drawer shut. Then he made a point of being noticeable as he jammed both hands in his jeans, showing the slight defiance his captors were used to, while nicely pocketing his stash. 

* * *

"There!" Jim yelled, pointed eagerly to the roof below. His companions had to squint through their binoculars: the Gunther building was only fifty-six stories compared to most of the buildings around it which averaged sixty-five or seventy, and they were easily a half-mile away from it. But to the Sentinel, the yellowbird on the roof was as plain as the full moon starting to rise in the eastern twilight sky. Simon ordered Donovan to take them down, and it was only minutes later they were on the roof and Simon was giving orders to the ground units. Jim and Carolyn ran to the roof door, which clearly had been breached, and Jim raised a hand indicating the need for silence. He was listening. 

"Nothing," he growled. Carolyn shook her head. 

"What about smell, Jim? Kincaid and his men should smell of gun oil and powder, right?" 

"Right," Jim nodded, smiling at the idea. "And since Blair wasn't on the chopper, maybe he's still with them. I should be able to smell him." 

"You can smell Sandburg?" Simon asked, coming up behind them as Carolyn's eyes widened. Jim looked embarrassed. 

"He uses this deodorant made with cloves," he explained lamely. Simon rubbed his eyes. 

"I really didn't need to know that," the captain sighed. He glanced at Carolyn. "Carolyn, you need to stay here and get in touch with the ground units. Tell them to send backup, but no sirens. Just seal off the building and wait for Kincaid to appear or to hear from us. Hopefully we can be in touch from the inside, but don't count on it." 

"Simon, I..." 

"Plummer, you're not armed, remember?" Carolyn glared, unable to argue. Simon sighed, and Jim touched his ex-wife's shoulder. 

"Caro, please?" The Lieutenant met the detective's eyes, then Simon handed her his cell phone and she nodded reluctantly. 

"Be careful," she told the two men firmly and strode back to the chopper. 

The two men nodded to each other and began their silent decent. 

* * *

<Two down, two to go,> Blair thought hopefully. So far both Kincaid and Morrison had set their drinks down within his reach and he'd been able to drop a few tablets into each glass. He had been relieved to see the little pills dissolve quickly, and the two Patriots had ingested the drugs without a clue. 

Walters had arrived with a selection of cold cuts and other sandwich materials and had settled into a chair in the 'living room' area of the office, and Alton had joined the rest of them in making snacks. Neither the pilot nor the convict had brought their drinks anywhere near the desk where Blair sat, and Blair had not been invited to join the Patriots in their meal. 

"Hungry, boy?" Kincaid asked, drawing Blair out of his thoughts. Blair looked up, considering the question - honestly, he was starving, his last meal having been his breakfast with Jim that morning - some ten or so hours earlier. However, his brain noted carefully, what if they're planning on drugging you in some way, just like you're trying to drug them? 

"No, thanks," he grumbled. "It's amazing how being held hostage and then being kidnapped can kill your appetite." 

"You're loss, Hero," the leader chuckled around a mouthful of pastrami. "I'd think you'd want your energy up for Alton here. He's developed quite an attraction for your little piggy hide." 

"Don't care if he's got energy or not," Alton laughed, chugging a beer. "He don't need much energy to bend over and take it, do ya, pet?" Blair shuddered, trying not to think what would happen if he couldn't get that man drugged. 

<Funny, though, how I'm no longer terrified, huh? Who'd guess that prolonged terror could lead to a sensation of emotional numbness?>

He caught Kincaid's yawn out of the corner of his eye, and his hope surged slightly. Maybe the leader would insist on everyone napping just because he felt tired? He saw Morrison stretch and slouch back onto the soft, comfortable sofa... if only he could get at those other two drinks! 

"I don't know about you boys, but it's been a long day," Kincaid declared, as though he'd spent the day at an amusement park rather than terrorizing a city. "I'm gonna go into the office across the hall and get comfortable on the sofa in there. Alton, you've got the watch for now. Make sure the kid doesn't get any bright ideas. Lock him up if you have to." 

"I'm gonna crash for a while, too, if you don't mind, boss," Morrison said after a yawn. Kincaid nodded and the two of them left the room. Blair's heart began beating faster. A few minutes passed while the remaining two men finished off their meals and piled their trash onto the coffee table. Blair watched as an unspoken conversation was held between eyes, and then Walters cleared his through noisily. 

"Uh... I'm gonna go check out the rest of the floor," Walters muttered quietly. "Don't play too hard, Alton. I don't want to have to clean up after you." Blair gulped as the third man left the room, and then he was alone with the last - and most definitely undrugged - Sunrise Patriot. 

"Well, looks like it's just you and me, precious," Alton growled, smiling sadistically. The man moved toward him slowly, as though hunting. Blair thought briefly about running, but knew he wouldn't get too far on his ankle. 

<This is it, Sandburg - everything bad you've ever done and gotten away with is getting paid back right here and now. Serious karmic backlash.> The convict reached over and hauled him out of the desk chair, their noses nearly touching. "I've been looking forward to having you for desert." 

"You don't really want to do this, do you?" Blair squeaked, twisting to face the man looming in on him. 

"Don't I?" Alton rumbled, his voice thick with lust. "I haven't gotten any for three months, boy, and now I'm gonna get a piece of your pretty lily-white ass. I've been looking forward to this all day." The man chuckled as he tossed Blair toward the sofa. 

* * *

Jim led Simon down the stairs, tracking the spicy odor he'd - what did Blair call it? - 'imprinted' as belonging to Blair Sandburg, would-be Ph.D. The smell was sickly sweet, altered in a way that Jim knew he would forever equate with fear. He hoped to God he never had to smell that particular version of Blair ever again. 

The two cops found the door three flights down jimmied and Jim leaned against the crack to listen. He heard five heartbeats - two much slower, one significantly faster than the others - and then he focused on someone speaking. 

"... gonna go check out the rest of the floor. Don't play too hard, Alton. I don't want to have to clean up after you." Jim glanced through the crack as a figure exited one room and headed 

"Well, looks like it's just you and me, precious." The faster heartbeat quickened even more, and Jim heard the sounds of movement of bodies and furniture. "I've been looking forward to having you for desert." 

"You don't really want to do this, do you?" Blair's voice, thick with fear. 

"Don't I?" The first voice - not Kincaid, so Jim labeled it Bad Guy Number One. "I haven't gotten any for three months, boy, and now I'm gonna get a piece of your pretty lily-white ass. I've been looking forward to this all day." Jim swore softly, and saw Simon's eyebrows arch. 

"They've split up. Two appear to be sleeping, one went down the hall. The fourth is with Sandburg... he's..." Jim closed his eyes as the anger filled him. "He's going to..." Simon shook his head, understanding the comment Jim couldn't finish; the look on Jim's face said more than enough. 

"Let's get Sandburg first, then we can go after the others," Simon whispered simply. Not necessarily the best strategy, but he knew Jim had to help the kid before doing anything else. Jim nodded and quietly led the way. 

* * *

"Please don't do this!" Blair panted, scrambling to get away from the terrorist. Alton grinned and grabbed the belt from the pantsuit Morrison had laid out for his fellow convict. Blair was rolled onto his stomach and his wrists quickly captured by the bigger man and securely fastened behind him, and then a hand was running excitedly over his ass. 

"Oh yeah, very nice," Alton breathed eagerly, squeezing a denim-covered round. Blair let out gasp as the hand moved to the front of his jeans and fumbled with his zipper, exposing him. "Nice package there, boy. Who'd'a thought a faggot narc cop could have a dick worth mentioning?" 

Blair felt his jeans yanked down to his knees, followed by his boxers, and he heard a whimper escape him when a hand grasped his penis firmly. "Bet all the fags want a turn at your cock up their ass, don't they?" Alton pumped twice on Blair's penis, as though he expected his victim to become aroused. 

"Please no..." Blair begged as he felt the convict pull away and heard the sound of the prison overalls being removed. "God, please..." he whispered, a prayer he didn't really believe would be answered. He heard the chuckle as hands found his bare behind, and he realized the emotional numbness had dissipated to allow the terror to return. 

Jim growled low as he listened to Blair begging his attacker for mercy, heard the assailant's amusement and the sound of clothing being removed. Simon looked at his detective with surprise but said nothing, knowing the man was hearing things that he, mercifully, could not. Jim moved down the hall and checked the room where he heard the two slower heartbeats and glanced in: Kincaid and a man in prison overalls appeared to be sleeping heavily. 

He nodded toward the door where Blair was; from the look on Simon's face, he knew the captain could hear now, too. Jim pushed the door open silently and got a full view of the situation: Blair pushed against a sofa, wrists bound behind him, jeans and underwear at his ankles, and a larger man with orange overalls pooled at his feet poised with his erection at the young man's entrance. 

"Bet you're tight, eh, baby? Bet you're a sweet fuck," the convict was cooing maliciously, one hand laced through Blair's hair, holding his face to the pillows, the other kneading soft flesh. Jim could hear Blair's breath coming in struggling sobs. "You ready for me, pet? You gonna take it all in and beg for more, eh?" 

Jim's stomach twisted as he crept silently over the carpeting, leaving Simon to guard the hall. Summoning all his rage into a single blow, he brought the butt of his gun down hard on the convict's head. The man dropped like a stone, and Jim moved to Blair's side. 

"Hey, Chief, it's me," he murmured softly as the young man tensed at his touch. He rolled Blair over so his sky blue eyes could meet an indigo pair, and then he pressed a finger to gasping lips, indicating the need for silence. Blair nodded, and Jim turned him to reach bound wrists. Freed, Blair released an small moan of relief and sank back as Jim wrapped his arms around his young teacher. "I'm so sorry about all this." 

"s'okay," Blair whispered, reaching his hands up to firmly grasp the Sentinel's embrace. "Thank you for coming for me." Jim placed a soft kiss on the younger man's head. 

"How could I not?" he chuckled softly. "We made a deal, remember? You help me stay sane, I help you get your doctorate." Blair grinned, allowing Jim's tight hold to flood him with a feeling of security. "I'll always come for you." 

Blair sighed contently, thrilling to the feeling of being safe for the first time today since... 

"Oh god, Jim! The other hostages...?" 

"They're fine, Chief. Simon and I got there before they could pull the triggers." Jim felt the surge of tension ebb out of his shivering charge. He turned the young man's face up towards his, then asked somberly, "You really okay?" 

His eyes conveyed to the younger man the real meaning of the question. Blair glanced down at himself and nodded. "Yeah. He didn't get anywhere beyond groping. You got here in time." 

"Thank god," Jim whispered, burying his face in Blair's curls, letting his breath warm Blair's ear. He gave the man a quick squeeze then helped him to stand. 

"I wouldn't mind if you'd leave out the last-minute heroics next time," Blair replied, his voice warm. Jim ruffled his curls affectionately. 

"Let's hope there's no 'next time', okay?" Jim told him. "Now pull up your pants, will you? I don't need any distractions until we finish this." 

"You're telling me you wouldn't mind this distraction some other time?" Blair asked mischievously, still too relieved from his rescue to have reset his brain's edit button. Jim smirked as Blair quickly redressed himself, but allowed his eyes to twinkle as they met Blair's big blues. 

"We'll discuss your physical attributes and their affects on my libido some other time, okay, Chief? Not with the captain right outside this door?" 

"Captain Banks came?" Blair asked, his voice amazed as he followed Jim to the door. Jim glanced at the young man's limping gate, but Blair waved him off any questions. 

"Yes, Captain Banks came," Simon replied quietly, his voice slightly annoyed. "What, you don't think I was going to let these bastards run off with you after you helped save my son, did you?" Blair grinned sheepishly. "I got an earful from some of my staff about your actions in the precinct, Sandburg. You did a good job in there, kid. Kept your wits about you, didn't try to do anything too grand... like a good cop." Blair's grin widened, and the captain gave a quick 'hurmph'. "Don't let it go to your head, though. And you owe the department a new candy machine." 

"Hey, I only knocked it over. The bad guy shot it up first." Simon allowed Blair to see a wide grin before Jim got their attention. 

"Two more are in there." He nodded to the office across the hall. "They seem to be sleeping at the moment, so we should be able to take them by surprise." 

"Actually, you should be able to play a Sousa march on their heads," Blair smiled proudly. "I managed to drug them with Valium I found in the desk. Two each, plus they mixed it with alcohol. They should be out for a couple more hours, at least." Simon looked summarily impressed. 

"Nice work, Sandburg." 

"The fourth one is the pilot," Blair supplied. "I don't think he's armed." Jim nodded and gestured for his companions to follow him. 

Twenty minutes later, Walters had been located and arrested, and Kincaid, Alton and Morrison had been handcuffed. Kincaid and Morrison were still unconscious, and Simon found it fitting to leave Alton completely undressed until transport had been arranged. Carolyn had already called for backup, so it was only a few minutes before Jim was able to escort Blair to the ambulance to have his ankle and other injuries checked. 

Carolyn joined them after the building's security had secured the roof access, staying with Blair while Jim checked in with the ground units. "So, you've had an active first day," she chuckled to the young man. "I'm Lieutenant Carolyn Plummer, Forensics and Technical Support. I'm also Jim's ex-wife." Blair shook her hand as the EMT taped his ankle. 

"Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. Yeah, I certainly won't have any problems remembering it," Blair sighed, holding ice to his battered cheek. 

"You know, Jim's pretty fond of you, young man." Blair looked up in surprise at the dark-haired woman who studied him so carefully. "I know you're working with him to help him with his... little problems..." Blair noticed the pointed way she mentioned 'problems' and realized that Jim had confided in her. "But I think he's already got a little more invested in you than he's willing to admit, if you know what I mean." Blair swallowed hard. 

"You... you really think so?" he asked carefully, his voice painted with ill-concealed hope. Carolyn smiled. 

"You hurt him in any way, and you'll be answering to me, you got that?" Blair nodded, feeling slightly relieved at the way she touched his cheek when she said that - the passing of a torch, he thought. 

<Wow, Jim cares about me already, enough that his ex-wife could tell and is giving me the classic 'hurt him I hurt you' speech.> Blair smiled warmly. <Guess maybe that lusting thing is a two-way street after all. Wouldn't that just be SO cool!>

"Hey, Chief, you ready to get the hell out of here?" Blair and Carolyn turned to see Jim approaching. "Uh-oh, I see the ex-wife and new partner have met and started exchanging notes. Should I be afraid?" 

"Always," Carolyn laughed, kissing her ex on the cheek. "Look, why don't we all meet for dinner tomorrow and you can catch me up on everything..." She touched Jim's nose, lips and ear lightly, hinting at the subject she meant. "I'll even cook." 

"Caro, you don't cook." 

"I most certainly do. I cook by way of telephone take-out, but I cook." 

"Carolyn Plummer, reheating in the oven does not qualify as cooking." 

"Fine, then you cook. Blair, this man makes a mean marinara, and I make a decent enough garlic bread. You do the salad, and we have a date for six at his place." 

"Why my place?" Jim asked, exaggerating a whine. 

"Because your place is the only place clean enough for you to stand eating at." 

"How do you know Sandburg's place isn't..." 

"Jim, NO place is. End of sentence." Carolyn's eyes twinkled at Blair. "Blair, a hospital isn't clean enough for Jim. The man is a total neat freak." 

"I like things orderly," Jim pouted. 

"You like things sterile, my man," Blair laughed. "Deal, dinner at six at the loft tomorrow." Carolyn spun on her heel and headed off, as Jim looked to Blair. 

"After we go to the University and settle that little problem we discussed last night." 

"Jim, tomorrow's Saturday. The offices won't be open for you to play Blessed Protector." 

"Play what?" 

"Blessed Protector. The Chinese believe when you save someone's life, you become his Blessed Protector. You're responsible for keeping them safe as long as they and you are alive." 

"Wait, so does that mean you've been my Blessed Protector since the garbage truck incident?" 

"Uh, well, yeah, I guess." 

"Conan, if this day is an example of how much trouble you can get into, I have a feeling I'm getting the short end of the savior stick." Jim pulled his friend into a tight embrace. "God, Chief, don't ever scare me like that again, okay?" Blair smiled into the big man's shoulder. 

"I'll make you a deal." Jim looked down at the anthropologist without releasing him from his hold. 

"What?" 

"I will do my very best not to get kidnapped or held hostage or shot at or threatened with bodily harm, if..." 

"Yes?" 

"I can openly lust after you?" Blair turned hopeful and mischievous eyes to the light blue ones looking down at him. Jim smiled, realizing he was a goner. He tracked the curve of Blair's jaw lightly with his palm. 

"Come home with me tonight, and you have yourself a deal." 

"Okay!" Blair grinned widely, and Jim's hand squeezed the back of his neck. "Oh, but we have to stop by my apartment on the way - I have to feed Larry." 

"Who's Larry?" 

"My Barbary ape, I borrowed him from the zoology department. I'm doing a study on the short-term effects of concentrated television violence on primates." 

"Sandburg, you do have a bizarre life, you know that?" 

"Hey, it wasn't MY place of employment that got overrun by terrorists today." 

"Touche. So where are we headed, gimpy?" 

"74 Carlton Row." 

"Blair, that's in the warehouse district. There are no apartments there." 

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. I live in a separated warehouse." 

"How on god's earth can you live in an old warehouse?" 

"Hey, where else am I going to get ten thousand square feel for eight-fifty a month?" 

**FINIS**

* * *

End Patriot Games by Kitipurr: meow9x@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
